The old dog was pleased now. “That’s right,” he said, “I’m with you there. Don’t boss a job you don’t understand.”
“From what you say,” I went on, “it sounds as if your commissioner was very hygienic, but he has got the bull by the tail instead of by the horns.”
The old dog roared with delight. This was something along his own line, and seeing him so good-natured, I was emboldened to say: “You spoke in quite a religious way just now, yet you keep a saloon.”
He turned on me quite fiercely. “Do you suppose there’s no religion in a saloon? I tell you there’s more good-nature and help-your-neighbourliness down here in the Bowery than there is up on Fifth Avenue. What told you to come down here for a free feed, hey?—You, a classy dog.”
“But is that religion?” I asked hesitatingly, for I didn’t want to ruffle the old fellow and lose my dinner.
“It’s the new theology,” he said more agreeably. “We don’t go to church, and sing hymns, and make roly-poly eyes, but we buck each other up. Why my mister sells the best of the Little Hell Gate Distillery stuff, yet if a fellow has too many drinks in him, he doesn’t get another one from us.”
“Well,” I said easily, “I try to be an up-to-date dog, and the latest theory is that drink takes strength away. First thing I noticed arriving here was the procession of saloons. First thing I noticed in the South was their absence. It had a kind of too-good-to-be-true look.”
“I see Russia gets on better without the sale of vodka,” said my new friend agreeably. “I guess we’d do just as well on the water-wagon, but you don’t want to be too quick in hopping on it. I often think that some of these fellows who come in here so dry and grabbing for their drinks, would be just as well off if they had a lot of good old hot coffee, the kind mother used to make; but you’d have to go slow with ’em, about putting the coffee-pot in the place of the bottle.”
“I never can understand,” I said, “why men don’t like grape-juice, and ginger ale, and beer, and all kinds of nice, cool, sloppy drinks better than fiery stuff, but that’s been tried and they hate it.”
A cunning gleam came in the old dog’s eyes. “Temperance folk don’t understand. They make their health places too clean and shiny, and a man in overalls don’t want to get in the eye of the public to take his drink and swap yarns with another pair of overalls. I’ll tell you what my mister’s doing, if you won’t let on to the dogs round here. They’re a tonguey bunch.”